


Prompt: "If you keep looking at me like that we won't make it to a bed."

by S_Faith



Series: Dribbles of Drabbles [11]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 16:12:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8539741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: What if Mark had been braver on the day after Christmas?





	

"Hold on… hold on."

After that mortifying impromptu speech to family and friends, Bridget's thoughts were so in a whirl still that she did not, at first, realise that this command was directed towards her. She stopped in the midst of slipping into her coat and turned to see that Mark Darcy had, in fact, followed her from the dining hall where the party had been taking place.

"Yes?" she asked, annoyance flaring up in her in an instance. "Come to tell me off for ruining your parents' Ruby Wedding party? You shouldn't have let me run my mouth off like that knowing you were leaving, and _engaged_ to—"

"I'm not," he interrupted. "I'm not engaged to her."

Her mouth dropped open. "Why in the world would she tell your father you were?"

"I suspect…" he began. Quietly, he said, "I suspect because you were here."

" _Me_?" Bridget was utterly bewildered. "But why? And why didn't you correct your dad?"

"I didn't want to embarrass him," Mark said; it seemed ridiculous, but totally in character for him to acknowledge a non-existent engagement rather than humiliate his father. Mark then went on. "But it's true that I accepted that position abroad. I…" He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking down. "I didn't think there was anything here to stay for. And then you turned up today, and you caught me completely by surprise…"

When he looked up again, when his eyes met hers, she realised exactly what he meant. Not so much that there wasn't anything to stay for. Rather, any _one_. And as if he had guessed she now understood, he stepped forward and placed a hand on her upper arm and silently guided her back to where she had spoken to him earlier, amongst some gifts and coats. It seemed like he wanted to talk again. Or so she thought.

"If I hadn't been so taken aback, if not for that _woman_ popping up between us at the most inopportune times," he continued, "I may have agreed to pop 'round to your place sometime."

Why _hadn't_ 'that woman' followed Mark this time? That was the question that shot through her brain as he cupped her face in his hand, as he leant forward and placed a kiss upon her lips. And then her mind went totally blank as she began to kiss him back, all of the warm feelings she had begun to have for him on her birthday came flooding back to her. Then he stood upright again. His gaze was very intense, indeed.

"Are you still going abroad, though," she said, more than asked.

"I'm slated to leave tomorrow," he said quietly, not blinking, "but I'm sincerely reconsidering it. If I have a reason to stay, that is."

It took her a moment to realise he was waiting for her to give him that reason. "You might just," she said. Still he looked at her with that penetrating gaze. Slightly discomfiting, such scrutiny; she realised he was looking at her with something akin to undisguised lust.

"If you keep looking at me like that," she joked weakly, "we won't make it to a bed."

"I can remedy that."

He reached down, took her hand, then led her down the hall, towards the staircase, and then upwards. She was still wondering how he had escaped the party unnoticed when she began to wonder where he was taking her. When he closed the door behind her, when he flipped the lock, she realised it must have been his room.

"I think I'm going to be staying," he murmured, then took her face in his hands, and began to kiss her again.

"I'm glad," she managed, "and glad that you're not a mad serial killer."

He looked perplexed for a moment… then chuckled. "Oh, the lock," he said, his hands coming to her shoulders. "That keeps prying eyes and delusional work partners away. If you like, though, you can go and tell everyone where you are and what we're doing, if it'll make you feel safer."

She giggled a little, but stopped at the feel of his fingers along the edge of the deep vee of her collar, on her skin. "Oh," she uttered at this surprising forwardness… then again, she had felt a deep attraction for him on that birthday evening, and it had been very clear to her, especially over dinner, that the attraction had been mutual.

If only Daniel Cleaver had not turned up that night, what might have transpired…

His fingers traversed the edge of the collar as they moved up again, then grasped her shoulders, as if he might slip the top of her dress down that way. But they lingered, stroking the skin there as he kissed her again, this time, more deeply.

"Maybe you should…" she began, thinking of his suit jacket, shirt, tie, belt, trousers…

"Slow down?" he said, close to her ear.

"Lose the suit," she supplied sheepishly.

He released her shoulders, then stepped back. He then undid his jacket button, slipped it from his shoulders, then draped it over the chair at the desk (which made her realise that there was indeed a desk in the room). He loosened his tie then removed it, folded it, and then placed it on top of his jacket. He then did the same with his shirt.

He reached for his belt and unfastened it, but her attention was still fixed on his chest. He was still wearing a vest but it was obvious that he kept in good shape. Quite without thinking she brought her hands up to his waist. This action got his attention, and he stopped what he was doing.

"Your dress," he said.

"Oh, God…" she began; she had dressed herself hastily in order to go with her parents that day. Her bra and pants didn't match; her stockings had a ladder near the top that she'd stopped with a bit of clear nail polish. In that and so many other ways, she was not exactly prepared for an intimate encounter.

"What is it?" he said.

"It's nothing. It's…"

This time he did push the dress off of her shoulders. His gaze darkened, and he traced a finger over the edge of her silky bra. He had no obvious objections to it. He drew her close, tugged down on the zipper on the back, then pushed the dress further down; she pulled her arms out of the sleeves as he slipped the dress over her hips. It fell to the floor. She then felt his hands on her skin, pulling her close against him, kissing her again.

She didn't remember exactly who divested whom of what, but before long they were beneath the duvet, skin against skin, kissing passionately. He ran his hand over her breast, then brushed his fingers down over her waist and hip. She reached for him, caressing his sides, then hips; he turned until she was mostly beneath him.

He then reached for the bedside table, fumbling around before finding what he needed; once he had attended to that bit of business, he settled beside her again, shifting atop her, lowering his head to kiss her once more. She gasped at the feel of his hand between her legs and groaned at his attentive touch. She bit down on her lower lip to stifle her own cries from getting too loud, though she was unable to totally suppress a loud moan as he thrust forward and joined with her.

With the combination of this action and her throaty sound, he apparently could not be reined in; he drove again and again, with his mouth pressed down against her shoulder to quieten himself, biting just enough for it to be pleasurable rather than painful. His pace quickened, each thrust harder than the last, until he went taut and still, and groaned into her skin as he came.

After a few laboured breaths he seemed to realise, much to her delight, that she had not yet found satisfaction. He began to give attention to her breast—this time with his mouth, teeth, and tongue—as he stroked where their bodies joined. Her surprise was quickly replaced by the utter pleasure of her building climax.

He had the good sense to cover her mouth with his own as she came, keeping her cries quieter. As the crest passed and she went quiet, subsiding into the bed, she sighed in her contentment; he enfolded her in his arms and held her close to him.

"That…" he murmured, "…exceeded all expectations."

She couldn't help herself; she giggled a little, then felt immediately bad. "Sorry," she said. "But that sounded so… ridiculously formal."

He was very silent, so silent that she wondered if she hadn't already managed to fatally step in it. But then she felt him begin to rock with quiet laughter. "It rather did, didn't it?" he said. "Doesn't quite capture how much I actually enjoyed that."

She pondered what he'd said. Truly pondered it. "So you'd given this thought, had you?" she asked.

More silence. "I had, Bridget," he said at last. "I had. Often."

She raised her head to meet his eye. "Often?"

He tilted his head a little, as if to confirm. "May I ask… had you?"

The way he asked made her blush a little, again slightly prim and proper. She rested her head down again as she considered his question. She had definitely been attracted to him since at least the Smug Married dinner, when his confession of liking her as she was had helped to paint him in a much more favourable light to her. _Had_ she thought about what it might have been like to shag him?

"Yes," she said. "You have a fantastic bottom."

He brushed his thumb over her skin; a lazy smile played upon his lips. "You have a way with words." He then sighed. The sound of it filled her with a bit of dread, and his words when he spoke didn't help. "I suppose I should get on with it."

"Oh," she said quietly.

"No need to sound so grim," he said, clearly amused. "If I'm to stay in London, I have things I need to start tending to."

She lifted her head once more. "Oh. Brilliant," she said. "But…" She trailed off. 

"'But' what?" 

The more she considered it, the guiltier she felt. Surely she wasn't the only reason he'd stay. That would put a lot of pressure on her. But how to say it? "I hope it's not a… lot of things."

"Not much," he said.

"I mean, I'd hate for you to drop everything on my account."

He didn't respond immediately. "On the contrary," he said. "I'm _resuming_ everything on your account." He brushed her hair back from her forehead, where it had escaped her Kirby grip. "I wasn't going because I wanted to," he went on, "but because I felt I _had_ to."

"Really?" she asked. "Had to?"

"Not literally," he said with a light laugh. "I thought a change of scenery would do me good. Help me to… not think of things that were not to be."

"But now they are," she added, offering a smile.

He took her face in the palm of his hand again, and smiled too. "So it seems."

It seemed he might kiss her again but he stopped, then his eyes shifted towards the door. "What is it?" she asked. 

"I hear footsteps," he said. He seemed deep in thought. "How did you get here?"

"With my… oh." Her smile fell. "With my parents."

The footsteps got nearer and nearer, but mercifully kept going. Mark stayed looking thoughtful. "I have an idea," he said. "We can get dressed. I grab my things, then I take you to your parents' house for your things."

"Okay."

"I can say you kept me company while I packed."

"Ah." She grinned.

"And then I can take you home to London."

That sure sounded better than taking the train. "Goody."

With one last kiss that threatened to reignite their passion, Mark slipped away and out from under the sheets; after donning his boxers, he found then handed her the bra and dress he had stripped from her earlier. He dressed with his back towards her; she supposed it was to afford her some privacy, which was a bit silly given what they had only just been doing minutes before, but she appreciated it all the same.

She wondered idly what exactly her hair and makeup was doing after their romp, and glanced around the room in search of a mirror. Very quickly she realised that there was not one in the room.

"What's wrong? Did you lose something?"

"Wanted to make sure I didn't look too disreputable, and I don't see a mirror in here."

"There isn't one," he said. He came up to her, plucked the grip from her hair, smoothed it down with his hands (combing with his fingers where necessary), then pinned it to the side as it had been. Then he stood back. "There. You look… unsullied."

She giggled a little. "Not even smudged mascara?"

"Not even that."

She wasn't sure she believed him completely, but she couldn't stay in this room with him indefinitely. "Okay."

He gathered up his overnight bag, which he'd evidently already packed, then went over towards the door. He flipped the lock then opened the door tentatively, saw that no one was in sight, and left the room, motioning for her to follow. She wanted to laugh at the secretiveness of it all.

"Ah, there you are!"

She tried not to freeze, or still worse, run down the hallway and away, at the sound of the one person's voice she wanted least to hear at that moment: Uncle Geoffrey's. She turned to face him with a neutral expression. His was anything but; he wore a lecherous grin.

Geoffrey continued, looking directly at her, "Your parents were wondering where you were… did you run off to play, eh?" He looked up at Mark, and the grin disappeared.

"We talked," Mark said coolly, then indicated his bag. "I packed. And now we're leaving. If you'll pardon us."

Mark strode off and Bridget followed. She did not know why Geoffrey was so intimidated by Mark, but she was glad for it.

To her surprise only about a half-hour had passed since he had pulled her away by the hand. She assumed her parents hadn't gone yet, and told him she did want to find them to let them know she had not disappeared to be found maimed in a ditch later.

Fortunately, she found her father first.

"Pumpkin," Colin said, glancing briefly to Mark. "Where have you been? I went to find you after all of that hullabaloo and couldn't find you…. Your mother insisted we not leave until we did."

"Well, here I am," she said with probably more gaiety than necessary. "Just wanted to let you know that I'm going to go to the house to get my things, and then go back to London."

"With Mark?"

She nodded.

Colin looked at Mark again. "Nice to see you again, lad, though I do wish it were under better circumstances."

"Pardon?"

"Well, with you going off to New York and all."

"Oh, I'm not," he said. "I've decided to stay."

"Oh!" Colin said with a grin. "What changed your mind?" As he asked it, the answer seemed to occur to him, and his gaze slid back to his daughter, which unaccountably caused her to blush. "Ahh. _With_ Mark. I see." But he smiled. "Well. How lovely."

It was such a typical understated thing for her dad to say, and she smiled. "We're going to get out of here," she said. "Tell Mum goodbye."

He nodded. "Get out while you can," he said, then winked. "I'll cover for you." He leant forward to peck her cheek. "Bye, love," he said. To Mark, he said. "Safe driving, and we'll see you again soon, I'm sure."

"Goodbye, Mr Jones."

With that they made for the front door, and were off to Mark's car.

"I feel like that was a narrow escape," she said as she fastened her safety belt. Nice car. Very comfortable. Would make for a cosy ride to town.

He engaged the engine then put it into gear. As they headed down the drive and turned onto the country lane, she suddenly felt very awkward. "Do you know how to get there?" she asked, feeling ridiculously formal.

"Yes," he said, glancing towards her. "I drove my parents to the Turkey Curry Buffet."

"Ah. Yes, I suppose you would have."

To her surprise, the car slowed, pulling off onto the shoulder, then stopped, snow-covered fields to each side of them.

"Oh God, you _are_ going to murder me," she blurted.

He burst out with a laugh. "No," he said, turning to her. "I just didn't dare stop within sight of the house."

"Why?"

He reached his hand out, brushed his fingers on her cheek to cradle the nape of her neck, then leant to place a quick kiss on her lips. "To thank you again for speaking up in your wonderful, verbal-diarrhoeic way."

She laughed. "Thank you… I think."


End file.
